The Art of the Cinematographer

by Leonard Maltin

  If anyone suggested seriously that Joe Louis defend his championship with one hand tied behind him, or that Joe DiMaggio bat with a cricket player’s underhand stance, the country would ring with indignation at stupid officialdom’s attempt to shackle an outstanding performer. But in some of our studios, something very similar seems to happen. They sign up the best directors of photography available to them—men who have made top reputations for individual skill and artistry. And, judged by the results on the screen, they seem to shackle these highly paid artists by insisting that all photography on the lot conform to rigid, if perhaps unwritten, regulations dictated by the personal preferences of someone in authority. . . . The result is [that], photographically speaking, one picture from one of these studios looks very much like other pictures from that studio. Any of them might conceivably have been photographed by the same man.

  This is the same problem many artists faced during the reign of the studio system in Hollywood. Actors, writers, directors, as well as cameramen, were often made to conform. But a handful of artists, in every category, fought for artistic freedom; some won it because their work was successful at the box office, others because they knew how to deal with the all-powerful studio bosses. However obtained, this freedom enabled talented men to create, and it is their work which stands the test of time, and which we are discussing here.

  At the 1964 Academy Awards, James Stewart was presenting the Oscar for Best Cinematography. In the color category, he read the first two nominations: CLEOPATRA , Leon Shamroy, and THE CARDINAL, Leon Shamroy. Stewart hesitated a moment, then quipped, “There’s three years of a man’s life right there!” A glance over his filmography shows that Leon Shamroy has devoted fifty years of his life to the motion picture business, most of that time as a cinematographer. And if Sol Polito’s name is indelibly linked with Warner Brothers, then Leon Shamroy’s ought to be synonymous with 20th Century Fox. He has been with the studio almost continuously for over thirty years.

  Like many other cameramen, Shamroy first learned the business by working in a film laboratory—coincidentally enough, the Fox lab—in 1920. He progressed from there to become a cameraman by the mid-1920s, filming many of Charles Hutchinson’s popular action pictures for Pathe; films with titles like THE TRUNK MYSTERY, PIRATES OF THE SKY, and LAND OF THE LAWLESS. In 1928 he collaborated with Paul Fejos on an avant-garde film, THE LAST MOMENT, photographing it and earning co-producer credit as well. The film was Fejos’ ticket to Hollywood (see Hal Mohr’s comments in his interview in this book), but it led Shamroy in quite a different direction. He spent a year working with pioneer documentary filmmaker Robert Flaherty on an unrealized project, and another period filming scenes of the Far East as part of the Huntington Ethnological Expedition.

  Back in Hollywood in the early 1930s, he joined the B. P. Schulberg unit at Paramount and filmed many first-rate pictures. One of his first, JENNIE GERHARDT (1933), a filmization of Theodore Dreiser’s novel, starring Sylvia Sidney, was one of his loveliest works, with period setting and costumes produced on an impressively lavish scale. Other pictures followed at a steady clip, including a side-trip to the Hecht-MacArthur unit, where he replaced Lee Garmes as cameraman on the team’s last independent picture, SOAK THE RICH. On loan-out, he filmed Fritz Lang’s lovely YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE (1937), an atmospheric tale which many have called the forerunner of the 1960s’ BONNIE AND CLYDE.

  After a brief stay at the Selznick studio, Shamroy was signed by 20th Century Fox, where he immediately won many of the studio’s most prestigious assignments. He fared particularly well with period films (THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES, LITTLE OLD NEW YORK, etc.) but tackled such diverse pictures as TIN PAN ALLEY and BUFFALO BILL. He distinguished himself particularly in the photography of Fox’s Technicolor product, and won three Academy Awards, for THE BLACK SWAN (1942), WILSON (1944), and LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945), all filmed in color.

  In the 1950s, Shamroy worked on most of Fox’s big pictures. He filmed THE ROBE (1953), the first feature film in CinemaScope; the incredibly widescreen aspect ratio (2.66:1) on this initial endeavor provided Shamroy with a challenge the equal of which he had not faced in many years. Despite unperfected lenses and general experimentation with the tremendous screen image, THE ROBE’S photography caused more comment than the film’s content. Whether by chance, or simply because he had been so successful with the new process, Shamroy became one of the industry pioneers in the mad scramble for new film formats in the 1950s and 1960s. He continued to film Fox’s major CinemaScope pictures like THREE COINS IN THE FOUNTAIN and THE EGYPTIAN. Then in 1956 with THE KING AND I he was one of the first to utilize Fox’s CinemaScope 55 process. This involved a 55mm strip of film, several times larger than conventional 35mm. The larger frame made for increased clarity in both color and definition. After shooting THE KING AND i in this process, it was decided that equipping theaters with special projectors for CinemaScope 55 would be too troublesome, and the picture was reduced to standard 35mm film. Nevertheless, the results were an improvement over those obtained with standard CinemaScope.

  James Limbacher, in his book Four Aspects of the Film, commented, “THE KING AND i [was] marked by extremely good color rendition and very sharp focus and depth. In 1961, Fox re-released THE KING AND I in large negative form for showing at the Rivoli Theater in New York—the only time that CinemaScope 55 was shown in its original form.”

  That wasn’t the end of widescreen experimentation, however. Two years later, Shamroy photographed SOUTH PACIFIC in still another process, Todd-AO. This was a 65mm film size which, again, yielded superior results. The reason it succeeded where CinemaScope 55 failed was that the Todd-AO projector was more versatile, being able to adapt to practically any film gauge. Once again, the photographic technique of the film put the rest of the production to shame (several of Shamroy’s later pictures were also shot in Todd-AO: PORGY AND BESS, CLEOPATRA, and THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY).

  On the set of SOUTH PACIFIC, Shamroy told an interviewer, “I’ve made tough pictures, in the early days when we didn’t have much money, but this—it’s one of the biggest, but it’s the toughest I ever worked on in my life! Not even to mention weather, the locations were tough—you couldn’t reach them—the equipment was tremendous . . . yet, you know, there’s nothing like adversity for success. You work five times as hard and it shows—not in a physical sense, but in a sort of spiritual sense. You don’t get any of that run-of-the-mill nonsense.”

  Shamroy’s use of color in SOUTH PACIFIC was unique. The film was an exercise in filters—perhaps overdone a bit, but indisputably striking to the eye. Shamroy explained to Anne T. Suivne, “Everybody thinks of the South Seas as sparkling. It isn’t. You get the sun here, and a rainbow here, and then it’s gloomy over there. As we were walking through [the native village], I suddenly thought, ‘I’d like to get something like Gauguin did with that magenta—’ and that’s why I used a magenta filter actually. Then, near the waterfall, I thought of Rousseau—you know, the French primitive painter—his detail, the green, the yellow seeping in. And also Covarrubias, those green ferns he had—And, over all, maybe some of the golden sunlight of Van Gogh. I shot ‘Happy Talk’ through a medium yellow filter—it was a dull, cloudy day, but it came out sunlight!”

  Only by such experimentation, and the urge to try something new, can a cinematographer stay young and active in the film world. Shamroy has never fallen into any of the potential pitfalls, even after following such spectacular films as CLEOPATRA (for which he did win the Academy Award) with such inconsequential films as DO NOT DISTURB with Doris Day.

  Most recently, Shamroy has faced a new challenge: television. He is currently shooting his first TV series, quite a step for a man who has been in demand for feature films, and thus far has been a TV holdout—but appropriately enough, it is a 20th Century Fox production, ARNIE. TV Guide reported that after one take during filming, the show’s star, Herschel Bernardi, thanked Shamroy “for making a middle-aged Jew look like a young Ge
ntile,” and Shamroy replied, “Yeah, that’s what Danny Kaye told me.”

  The demands of TV filming are rigorous, and coming up with quality results is extremely difficult. But if anyone can do it, it is Leon Shamroy.

  How does one summarize the outstanding work of cameramen in Hollywood? It is an impossibility, for the complete story of cameramen’s work is the complete story of motion pictures. Yet certain men and their achievements stand out.

  Joseph L. Walker once told an interviewer, “Years ago, I decided that the real foundation of photography was the lens that made the picture. And as photography was my bread-and-butter, I decided I’d better know something about lenses. And I’ve been learning about them ever since.” Walker’s collection of lenses was the envy of every cameraman in Hollywood, and what is more important, Walker knew how to use them. His base of operations for over twenty years was Columbia Pictures, and his name is associated with virtually every great film the studio produced during that time: IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT, ONE NIGHT OF LOVE (in which he faced the challenge of making unglamorous opera star Grace Moore an appealing heroine—and won), MR. DEEDS GOES TO TOWN, LOST HORIZON, ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS, THE JOLSON STORY, AND BORN YESTERDAY, to name a few. His skill is evident even in an early endeavor like the recently discovered Frank Capra film THE MIRACLE WOMAN (1931), which boasts nothing less than impeccable photography, from scenes like the one with Barbara Stanwyck and David Manners in a room lit only by a fireplace behind them, to heavily diffused day-for-night shots at the shore. Capra says today, “We worked together very closely on visual effects. He would try anything. We developed the idea of using a four-inch lens on closeups of women, where everything behind them would fall completely out of focus.” Walker’s last picture was AFFAIR IN TRINIDAD, in 1952. Since that time he has devoted himself to the technical gadgetry he has always loved. He is the inventor of the Electra-Zoom lens utilized in television camera work, and is often credited as a pioneer in the field of zoom lenses for cinematography as well.

  Ray June graduated from Cornell University in his home town of Ithaca, New York, and journeyed to Hollywood. While still a young man, he became chief cameraman in the 1920s, shooting dozens of program pictures. The coming of sound brought a change in his luck; he photographed the famous early talkie ALIBI, and soon found himself in demand for top-drawer films. In 1931 he filmed what may be his all-time best picture, ARROWSMITH, beautifully directed by John Ford. Two years later, his low-key photography for I COVER THE WATERFRONT attracted notice, succeeding in striking the happy medium between the harsh realities of the story and the romanticism of the leading characters. Among his other films were such Goldwyn pictures as ROMAN SCANDALS, KID MILLIONS, and BARBARY COAST, and MGM films like TREASURE ISLAND, CHINA SEAS, and WIFE VERSUS SECRETARY. Continuing to work for MGM through the 1950s, June proved himself a master once again with the brilliant color photography of Stanley Donen’s FUNNY FACE in 1958, with Audrey Hepburn, Fred Astaire, and Paris as it has seldom been photographed by others.

  Leon Shamroy works out a scene with Linda Harrison and Charlton Heston for PLANET OF THE APES (1968).

  Frank Capra smiles for the still photographer on the set of DIRIGIBLE (1931); long-time associate Joseph Walker is behind the camera to the right of him.

  J. Peverell Marley first came to prominence as Cecil B. DeMille’s chief cameraman in the 1920s, succeeding Alvin Wyckoff. He photographed THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, KING OF KINGS, THE ROAD TO YESTERDAY, THE VOLGA BOATMAN (in collaboration with Arthur Miller—and which collaboration brought about one of the most beautiful of all silent films), and DYNAMITE, among others, building himself a truly impressive reputation. By the mid-1930s he was photographing the prestige pictures for the newly formed 20th Century company, which was soon to merge with Fox and become 20th Century Fox. HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD, BULLDOG DRUMMOND STRIKES BACK, and FOLIES BERGÈRE were among the elegant pictures he filmed for 20th Century. The distinction between competence and excellence was never so clear as in FOLIES BERGÈRE; the basic film was shot by Barney McGill, but the two spectacular musical numbers were done by Marley. They stood out from the rest of the film like neon signs—vivid and crystal-clear, with ingenious compositions, while the balance of the picture could only be called adequate.

  Under the 20th Century Fox regime he continued to receive top assignments: KING OF BURLESQUE, IN OLD CHICAGO, and SUEZ, to name a few. In 1939 he photographed THE THREE MUSKETEERS (which he had also shot in its 1935 version) and, with the aid of expert art direction, and a top director (Allan Dwan), turned a modest production into an opulent swashbuckler which remains a fine film today. Like many cameramen, Marley married some of the actresses he photographed, notably Linda Darnell, but in the early 1940s he found himself shooting less important pictures for Fox—not even his wife’s starring vehicles. So after Army duty during World War Two, he left Fox for Warners, where he shot NIGHT AND DAY and LIFE WITH FATHER, among others; one of his notable achievements at the studio was in 1953 with the 3D production of HOUSE OF WAX. Also in the 1950s, his career came full cycle when he returned to his former boss, Cecil B. DeMille, as one of several photographers on the director’s last two films, THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH and THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. And in 1957 he capped his career with one of his finest achievements: Billy Wilder’s SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS, photographed with Robert Burks. The film was an admitted challenge to both Wilder and his cinematographers, an exercise in creativity under confining conditions (namely Lindbergh’s cockpit). Under contract to Warner Brothers, Marley continued to photograph their glossy star-vehicles and programmers into the early 1960s. He died in 1964.

  Another production shot from DIRIGIBLE. As Capra said in his autobiography, “Blankets on cameras to keep them quiet, not warm.”

  Nick Grinde perches alongside Joseph Walker’s well-muffled camera to direct Regis Toomey and Barbara Stanwyck in a scene from SHOPWORN (1932).

  Ray June (standing) and Tay Garnett shoot a scene with Clark Gable and Wallace Beery for CHINA SEAS (1935).

  DeMille and crew (among them cameraman Alvin Wyckoff) film a scene for MALE AND FEMALE (1919).

  Peverell Marley behind the camera, Robert Z. Leonard directing in front; the film is A LADY OF CHANCE (1928), with Johnny Mack Brown and Norma Shearer.

  Many film technicians can be credited with longevity; it is only a handful who have remained at the top all that time. One of these men is Charles B. Lang, Jr., for forty years one of the best cinematographers in Hollywood. Born in 1902, he studied law at the University of Southern California, but eventually succumbed to family influence and joined the laboratory staff at Realart, which was headed by his father. This was his entree to motion pictures, and before long he was working his way up through the ranks of assistant cameramen to become second cameraman at Realart. When the studio folded, he found odd work as first cameraman on independent “quickies,” but gladly gave it up to join Paramount as second cameraman in 1926. He seized his first opportunity to work as first cameraman at the studio the following year, on a Betty Bronson comedy called RITZY. It was considered something of a disaster, photographically and otherwise, and Lang was instantly demoted. Analyzing what went wrong, Lang later said that his trouble was not having an individual style, but merely imitating Victor Milner, Harry Fishbeck, and other cinematographers with whom he had worked. Finally, in 1929, he returned to the position of first cameraman with a deeper understanding of his craft, and remained one of Paramount’s best cameramen for over twenty years.

  Lang won his first Academy Award for photographing Frank Borzage’s A FAREWELL TO ARMS (1932), and it remains one of his outstanding achievements today, a genuinely beautiful film, filled with what Lang called “effect lighting” and meticulously conceived mood scenes. He followed this with standout work in such films as DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY, LIVES OF A BENGAL LANCER, PETER IBBETSON, DESIRE, MIDNIGHT, ZAZA, and A FOREIGN AFFAIR. His work on SEPTEMBER AFFAIR (1950), a lovely picture directed by William Dieterle, is among his best. Since 1952 Lang has f
ree-lanced, and brought his skill to such films as THE BIG HEAT, GUNFIGHT AT THE O.K. CORRAL, and SOME LIKE IT HOT, the last proving once again that skilled black and white photography can rival color work any day. Most recently he has photographed some of the most polished films to come out of Hollywood, visual treats such as CHARADE and HOW TO STEAL A MILLION, as well as the effective chiller WAIT UNTIL DARK. His latest credits include CACTUS FLOWER and the romantic film A WALK IN THE SPRING RAIN. And so, in the 1970s, Charles Lang continues to dazzle just as brightly as he did when he started over forty years ago.

  What of Lucien Andriot, Joseph August, George Barnes, Floyd Crosby, Clyde DeVinna, Elmer Dyer, George Folsey, Tony Gaudio, Bert Glennon, Ernest Haller, Sam Leavitt, Ted McCord, Oliver Marsh, Ernest Miller, Victor Milner, Nicholas Musuraca, Ernest Palmer, Joseph Ruttenberg, John Seitz, Leo Tover, Karl Struss, Gilbert Warrenton, Stanley Cortez, Robert DeGrasse, Milton Krasner, William C. Mellor, Russell Metty, Joseph Valentine, Paul C. Vogel, Daniel Fapp, Burnett Guffey, Joseph LaShelle, Ernest Laszlo, Frank F. Planer, Philip Tannura, Robert Surtees, and so many others who have turned in fine work over the years? They all deserve discussion, but this book cannot hope to do justice to them. When the definitive encyclopedia of cinematography is written, their names will certainly rank among the top in their field.

  Marley lets Margo and Burgess Meredith look at a scene from WINTERSET (1936) from his point of view.